


In His Skin

by TerokNorTailor



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Surgery, Transformation, surgical alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerokNorTailor/pseuds/TerokNorTailor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian has been assigned to a difficult espionage mission by Starfleet Intelligence.<br/>The catch? He has to be surgically altered to appear Cardassian.<br/>Garak has very mixed feelings about this.</p><p>Disclaimer: I do not own any Cardassian Tailors or Federation Doctors. (But I wish they were real!)</p><p>Also, this is the first fic that I have written and published here on AO3, so crit is highly welcome! Feel free to leave a comment anytime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Starlight streamed in through one of the station’s ovoid windows, catching the human’s bronze body in a backlit silhouette. A ribbon of white light followed the dip in his neck and caught his shoulder before gracefully sloping down to his hip and pooling in the folds of silk sheets. Garak wanted to trace this line with a fingernail just to see the slightly reddish streak of irritation that would follow, but he dared not wake the Doctor. 

Tonight was the last night he would see Julian looking his normal human self. By the end of the day tomorrow, the Doctor’s lithe body would be covered in fleshy scales and his burnished gold skin would be tinted a shade of light greyish green. His neck and shoulders would be bridged by an internal implant designed to mimic the cartilaginous supports of a Cardassian’s neck ridges. Garak had been giving Julian lessons in Cardassian mannerisms and intonation for months now. Years if he counted their many luncheons. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine the Doctor’s imminent reptilian incarnation. A deep breath passed through his lips as he envisioned Julian on the operating table with laser scalpels and trays of replicated tissue being passed around from doctor to doctor. A mistake here, a misstep there, and the monitors could all go to zero. This put both prongs of Garak’s tongue on edge. Frankly, the only person he trusted in the medical sense was Julian, so having him go under anyone else’s knife was a thought that had been eating at him ever since they had accepted the mission. Of course, this acceptance was under Sisko’s strident recommendation. Still, the sound of zeroing medical equipment had become a constant in Garak’s mind. He knew that the operation was being performed by top members of Starfleet Medical under the guidance of information about Cardassian physiology obtained from an old friend he had met through unfortunate circumstance. He knew that Julian had overseen simulations of the procedure himself, correcting any minor error in the surgeons’ performance. He knew that nothing could go wrong…

Garak sat up from the bed in a cold sweat, breathing hard – his eyes open wide to the facing wall. Two works of art hung side by side. A landscape of Cardassia Julian had procured for Garak, in the process leaving him with a considerable debt to Quark, hung toward the left. Toward the right, an engraving depicting a submersible in the death throes of a giant earth creature known as a squid was mounted. It was a scene from one of the books that Julian had given Garak to read. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by a fellow named Jules Verne. One of Julian’s childhood favorites. Garak had carved it between customer visits at the shop, taking a special delight in adding the many suckers to the squid’s long tentacles. He hadn’t much cared for the book, but the descriptions of Earth’s ancient sea life were fascinating. There were no deep blue seas on Cardassia. Only warm, shallow oceans that were fed by underground aquifers and populated by scores of aquatic avians and large schools of those little fish used to make fish juice. Meditating on these paintings proved slightly calming, but Garak still couldn’t shake his negative thoughts about his mission with Julian. He stood up, knees slightly stiff from the cold of the station, and walked over to a small, glass-topped table on the other side of the room. 

The table was set with two bottles, a square one of fine Irish whisky – a gift to Julian from Chief O’Brien, still unopened – and a serpentine spiral shape full of some high quality vintage Kanar. Payment for Quark’s latest sartorial investment, and an extraordinarily rare treat in Federation space. Garak poured some of the Kanar into a delicate conical glass, taking time to appreciate its amber translucence as the viscous dark liquid coated its inner walls. He brought the glass to his lips, and was about to take a sip when he heard Julian’s voice.

“I thought we were going to share that.” 

Garak froze, eyes trained on the bed, where Julian was now sitting up. The Doctor swung his legs over the side of the bed, catching their silk sheets with a foot and bringing them to a soft pile on the floor. Loose emerald green shorts hung at his hips and flowed in the air as he walked over to where Garak was standing. Garak could remember when he found the right shade of Tholian silk to compliment Julian’s skin.

“Julian, I thought you were -“

“Asleep, I know.” Julian finished Garak’s sentence with a resigned tone. “I gave up trying to get any rest about an hour and thirty seven minutes ago.” He picked up a glass identical to Garak’s own and, taking the bottle of Kanar from the table, poured himself a glass. Noticing the obviously pained look in Garak’s eyes, Julian proffered a toast. “To a second skin,” he uttered with a smile.

“To completing this mission successfully,” returned Garak, his face softening, mouth slightly turned up at the corners. The clink of glasses seemed to hang in the air, as if latching on to words unsaid. The Kanar coated their throats with a sour-spicy bouquet of flavor, and finished with a barely noticeable shade of sweetness. More of a feeling than an actual taste. Garak put his arm around Julian’s bare torso and led him to the padded bench beneath the window, where they let their bodies sink into the rich cushions.

“Garak, is something wrong?” Julian asked in response to the Cardassian’s lack of his usual conversational self.

“It’s just… I’m going to miss… This.” Garak gestured at Julian’s starlit body with a sweeping movement of his hand. Julian looked away from Garak’s eyes, despite how hard it was to break the lock of those blue irises. He turned his head so Garak was facing his profile.

“Quite frankly, I’m looking forward to it. I’ve only ever been human, and this is a chance for me to be something else for a change.” That’s what Garak loved about Julian. He didn’t have that boxed in human mind. Whenever he was presented with something new, it was an opportunity for growth and expansion of knowledge and experience instead of just a chance to build a new wall. “In fact, I think what I’m looking forward to most are these…”

Julian brought his hands up to Garak’s neck ridges, using the tips of his fingers to caress them ever so lightly. He could feel the tension built up in the tendons and muscles. Garak felt a warm tingling sensation under Julian’s fingers. The Doctor increased the pressure, and got up on his knees behind the Tailor. Garak’s back scales caught the starlight, reminding Julian of the look of a pond on a breezy night. Not rough, but just enough texture in the waves to break up any light that fell upon them. The tingling increased, and soon Garak could feel waves of pleasure radiating inward from Julian’s massage.

“You’ll do this… to me… when I… get… my… ridges… right?” Julian breathed between kisses down Garak’s subtly ridged spine, stopping when he reached the small of his back where the scales trailed off. Garak turned his body, grasping Julian’s hips. He reached up, trailing his fingertips over the human’s gently muscled frame until he reached the sides of his head. Garak nestled his fingers in between sections of Julian’s mildly curly black-brown hair and pulled his face close. Smooth skin touched his cartilaginous forehead crest, warm hands still draping his neck ridges. 

“I don’t see why I can’t give you more experience with Cardassian mating rituals… so it’s definitely not out of the question,” Garak responded to Julian’s heated inquiry. A smile spread across Julian’s face that Garak had not seen since before the Dominion War. 

“I’ll take that as a promise…” Julian mused as he fell into Garak’s arms, the both of them falling down on the window bench, entwined. 

Garak brushed a loose bit of hair away from Julian’s face. “That’s a promise I intend to keep.”


	2. Chapter 2

“The time is oh-five-hundred hours.” The voice of the station computer rattled Julian awake. He didn’t react, as he thought he would wake Garak, who was sleeping beside him. He unwrapped himself from Garak’s embrace, being as quiet as he could. Just as he was standing up from the bench where they had fallen asleep the night before, he felt a hand lightly grab his wrist. Julian froze, knowing that he couldn’t escape the reptilian cool of Garak’s palm.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Garak hissed softly, almost a purr, without opening his eyes.

“I need to get dressed,” Julian answered. “I have a breakfast date with a very fashionable friend this morning before the operation. I hope he doesn’t miss it.” Julian maneuvered his hand so that it held Garak’s the same way it had years before at the climax of those ten harrowing days spent getting his friend off that insidious wire device. Garak opened his eyes and pulled Julian back towards him, so their faces were close. Julian brought Garak’s hand up near his heart.

“Oh, I have a feeling he’ll be there,” Garak assured. Julian smiled and leaned in, placing a light kiss on grey lips before unclasping his hand and heading towards the bathroom. He smiled again when he noticed the familiar teardrop shaped indentation on his chest, near his collarbone, from where Garak usually rested his head when they slept together. It would fade in about seven minutes and thirty eight seconds. Julian traced it with a finger, remembering the time when Garak told him what that infamous Cardassian marking was called. A chufa. It sounded childlike and adorable, like the kind of name one would give to a teddy bear. He still couldn’t get over the fact that someone as deadly as Garak or someone as outright villainous as Gul Dukat, with all his pointy edges and patronizing superiority, could walk around with a thing called a chufa on their head and keep a straight face. 

Julian stepped into the sonic shower, and Garak could hear the door shutting behind him. The older man sat up stiffly on the bench, as the cold of the night had gotten to him a little bit. Usually his quarters were kept quite warm to compliment his Cardassian preferences, but since Julian was there, he had turned down the thermostat significantly. He contemplated getting in the shower with Julian, but the last time he tried that, both of them found the space to be entirely too small. He instead walked over to the closet, picking through his comparatively large wardrobe for an outfit to wear. A flash of purple and orange caught his eye and he quickly looked around to see if Julian had come back from his shower. He had hid that awful ‘leisure ensemble’ that Julian had worn on one of his trips to Risa as soon as he could get his hands on it. He would have recycled it in the replicator had his bond with its owner not been so strong. Julian wasn’t out of the bathroom yet, and Garak continued to search.

His hands settled on red, dark green, chartreuse, patterned teal, bold green stripes, metallic gold, geometric gold, variegated purple, and muted somber grey before folding themselves in a frustrated knot. His dear Doctor was going in for an hours-long surgical operation and all he could do was fuss about what outfit to wear! He let it go for a few minutes to put Julian’s uniform in the clothes refresher, subsequently laying it out on the bed after the control panel indicated a full cycle was completed. Garak went back to the closet and, out of pure sentimentality, picked out the chartreuse green ensemble. He had been wearing this when Julian had spent ten long days getting rid of his dependence on Tain’s infernal implant. It only seemed appropriate to wear when he was the one doing the worrying. 

Garak was just fastening the purple notched belt in the back when Julian came out of the sonic shower, looking positively stunning in nothing but a sparkly Starfleet issue towel tenuously hanging from his hips. Julian noticed his normally loquacious tailor at a loss for words, presumably to his current state of undress. 

“Well don’t stare,” Julian filled the space between them with his softly accented words. “Take a holo if you have to.”

“I just might,” Garak returned. “On the contrary, this is truly the last time I’ll see you in this form for a while.” Garak resisted the urge to touch Julian’s glowing skin. This was, however, getting infuriatingly hard to do of late. 

“Okay, get your fill now while you still can.” Julian slowly spun around in a circle, finishing with a small bow. Garak returned the favor with a measured bit of clapping. “You’re welcome. Now, we must get to the Replimat. It’s almost oh-six hundred and I’m supposed to be in the Infirmary in an hour!” Julian walked towards the door, towel still barely clinging to his hips.

“Doctor!” Garak exclaimed, incredulous. “I think you are forgetting something.” Julian grinned. He knew that would get a bit of a rise from his most sartorially conscious companion.

“Ah yes, the uniform. Thank you for laundering it for me.” Julian went to put on the uniform, and Garak took his turn in the bathroom. He busied himself slicking his hair back with traditional Cardassian slug oil, lightly perfumed. Then, he took a small stone container out of the top drawer. Opening it revealed a blue substance the consistency of softened wax. He took the smallest amount on his ring finger and dabbed it in the center of his chufa ridge. The cool blue was a nice contrast to the warm yellowy-green of his outfit, and he relished the way this truly negligible amount of color could bring out his eyes. Looking not only good, but great, was his business. Dammit! Again, here he was thinking of himself when Julian’s life was going to be at risk in a few hours! That was the one thing about tailoring he hated. Garak had never considered himself vain before he had taken up the needle and thread. Conscious of his appearance, yes, but never vain. He gave his reflection a cursory, scolding glance before collecting his presence and turning towards Julian. The Doctor was just affixing his communicator badge to the black fabric.

“Shall we?” Garak gestured toward the door.

“We shall,” Julian answered with that confident Starfleet smile of his. The door slid open as both men walked out into the hall towards the turbolift. Garak extended a bent arm, and Julian hooked his own into the crook of the Cardassian’s elbow. They continued for a few meters, and ducked into the nearest open turbolift. Neither of them noticed that another person was already inside.

“Promenade,” Julian ordered as Garak leaned in to deliver a kiss on his cheek. A rough voice grated the air. 

“Should I catch the next one?” It was Miles O’Brien. Neither Julian nor Garak was pleased to see the Chief. He had railed on Julian for accepting this ‘ludicrous’ mission and his express distaste for Cardassians only made it worse. He had derided the Doctor many times for his decision to go under the laser scalpel in order to look like one of them in hopes of attaining information that may not even exist. 

“Hello, Chief,” Julian greeted him coldly. This whole month hadn’t gone well with Miles. It had started when Julian diagnosed Molly with a minor virus that another one of his patients had, and the Chief had blamed him for discharging his patient too early. Luckily the virus was able to be cured within a couple of days and the only side effect was a temporary purple tinge to the girl’s skin. 

“Missed you at Quark’s last night,” O’Brien said with an accusatory tone. “Playing darts with Worf isn’t much fun.”

“I told you I had other plans,” Julian answered calmly. “Besides, we’ve needed a new dartboard. I’ll send you the replicator pattern later today.”

“Also, your wife’s jacket is ready to be picked up at my shop,” Garak added. “I’m sure she’ll want it for her next trip down to Bajor.” Garak gave the Chief one of his opaque customer service smiles. That seemed to put O’Brien on edge enough in order to assure that the rest of the turbolift ride was finished in silence.

The doors slid open to reveal a typical Promenade morning. O’Brien quickly shuffled out of the turbolift and headed toward the security office, presumably to fix yet another force-field emitter.


	3. Chapter 3

Julian and Garak garnered a friendly, if not guarded nod from Constable Odo as he was making his morning rounds. The only places open at this time were the Replimat, the Bajoran café and the new Federation Diner – a rather tacky establishment owned by one of Captain Sisko’s old colleagues. Waiters and waitresses dressed in hideous old-fashioned Starfleet uniforms and offered dishes of Human, Vulcan, Tellarite, and Andorian origin. They served an extensive list of breakfast dishes twenty six hours a day, including something called ‘pancakes.’ Julian had convinced Garak to eat there one day, and Garak had ordered an odd dish composed of bread, cheese, and a red sauce topped with meat. Julian had told Garak that it was called ‘pizza,’ but Garak just called it unpalatable. In fact, he got quite sick after eating it and had to visit the Doctor in the Infirmary a few hours later. They both decided that the Replimat was their safest and most familiar option. 

Upon arrival, the Doctor and the Tailor were relieved that no one had taken their table and that there was no line leading to the replicators. Garak ordered his customary warm fish juice and rulot seed bread while Julian went for his usual extra sweet Tarkalean tea and a savory chive scone. The two sat down, plates making audible contact with the surface of the table. A comfortable silence enveloped them, broken only by the sounds of the Promenade and the clinking of dishes. Julian always took a sip of his tea before going on to his scone, but Garak preferred to leave the fish juice for last, instead ripping off a small chunk of the hefty aromatic bread. Cardassians almost never bit their food directly, at least not those of high class. That was reserved for the open air markets, with street carts selling stalks of fried lennet accompanied by small containers of Yamok sauce. The comfortable silence between them was getting too comfortable for Garak’s tastes.

“My dear Doctor,” he broke the silence with his all too familiar inquiring tone. “Can you explain to me how you can be so calm on a morning like this?” Julian looked up from his plate, brushing scone crumbs from the corner of his mouth, swallowing hastily.

“Like what?” The sheer casualness of Julian’s voice was infuriating.

“Well, if I recall correctly, you are about to have a massively invasive procedure performed on your body that has never been done before. And, while it is still only cosmetic, it could possibly be life threatening. No human has ever been transformed into a Cardassian until now, and frankly, I don’t understand why this particular human has to be you.”   
Garak broke off his gaze from Julian’s kind eyes to look down at his plate. Apparently he had ripped his rulot bread to more small chunks in frustration. 

“Garak, we’ve been over this. I personally restored Major Kira’s appearance after she had undergone the same procedure. It’s just a simple question of reverse engineering the process. If I know how to undo it, then I can extrapolate how the transformation was achieved in the first place. My surgical team has already replicated the implants necessary as well as cultured the skin grafts, and I have personally overseen simulations of the procedure in Quark’s holosuites as well as Starfleet Medical. The probability of something going wrong while I’m under the laser scalpel is very low. I can assure you of that.” Julian pointed a slender finger at his temple, indicating that he had done the calculations over and over in that genetically engineered brain of his. 

“But Doctor -”

“You have nothing to worry about, Garak.” Julian’s voice was filled with his own unique variety of calm confidence.

“Oh, I believe I do,” Garak countered. “I have you.” There was no pretense in the Cardassian’s voice. No lilt of mischievous fabrication. There was instead a rare tone of grave concern. There was something more, something implied. 

'You are all I have,' thought Garak.

Julian’s brows angled upwards in the center, mirroring the smile that cautiously crept across his face. He reached his left hand under the table to find Garak’s thigh, squeezing it with a light, but firm assuredness. Under the wool he could feel the light outlines of scales. A cool hand met his own, and again, the two men wove their fingers together. Julian locked Garak’s blue eyes across the table.

“I’ll be fine.” Julian reached up towards Garak’s face to replace a stray hair that had fallen out of the Cardassian’s coif. This action was interrupted by a voice from Julian’s comm badge.

“Sisko to Doctor Bashir.” Julian tapped the Starfleet insignia with his right hand.

“Bashir here,” he answered, slightly annoyed that Sisko had interrupted their breakfast.

“Doctor, I hope you won’t be late for your own appointment. However, I need to see you in my office beforehand. Sisko out.” Julian sighed heavily. It was twenty minutes until seven hundred, and he didn’t expect to be called to the Commanding Officer’s office. Garak looked quite puzzled for once in his life.

“You should go, Doctor.”

“I believe I should.” With that, Julian gently pulled Garak’s hand out from below the table and brushed it with a kiss. Letting go, he rose up from his chair.

“I’ll meet you outside the infirmary at oh seven hundred, then.”

“Very well,” replied Garak, and Julian walked a ways down the Promenade, turning into the nearest turbolift. He heard the Doctor order the computer to take him to Ops, and then he was alone. 

The Cardassian eyed his glass of fish juice, now unappetizingly cold, and his companion’s plate, covered in scone crumbs. Half of the golden Tarkalean tea was still left in the glass. Garak took the dishes, carefully balancing them in his hands until he set them down on the nearest replicator surface. He pressed the recycle button and a swirl of golden amber light took the leftovers out of existence.


	4. Chapter 4

Garak took the opportunity to head over to his tailor shop see if he could finish hemming the sleeves of Ambassador Troi’s latest purchase. On her visits to the station, she had become quite enamored by his designs, noting the strong, structural line and unique use of color as their forte. He had tried to find out whenever she was visiting the station, in order to make sure the shop was closed those days, as her visits tended to grate on his psyche. She surely was insufferable. Nevertheless, the ‘Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed’ had her ways of contacting him outside store hours. This time, it was a coded transmission requesting a wedding gown made of Tholian silk the color of fire. It was her fourth wedding, this time to a Vulcan official. She wanted something to compliment the color of a Vulcan sunset, and she wanted it to be incredibly memorable, as she was finally forgoing the Betazed tradition of marrying in the nude. She had already set the price of the ensemble at two bars of gold-pressed latinum, but was willing to go as high as five if she was really impressed. If the Ambassador liked the dress, it would be Garak’s largest sale ever. 

Garak went to the back room of his shop, opening the door to reveal the dress. It was a column of flame, with wavy pleat details that led the eye to upwardly pointed shoulders. The outrageous color was a welcome counterpoint to the otherwise conservative garment, with a high neckline, long flowing sleeves, and no defined waist. He picked up a sewing tool from his workbench and began to coerce the filmy material into a thin hem. Sewing really did calm his nerves. It was just a question of watching the fibers knit together seamlessly under the green light of his sewing gun, which he almost dropped at the sound of Julian’s voice.

“It’s time.”

“Oh, Doctor. Please forgive me; it seems I got caught up in my work…”

“I figured you had. You almost made yourself sick with nerves over breakfast, and I know that sewing is rather therapeutic for you.” Garak switched off the sewing gun.

“Ah, yes. Yes it is. Now, what did Sisko want to talk to you about?” Garak’s voice had a shade of desperation to it. “It sounded important.”

“Come. We’ll talk about it on the way to the Infirmary.” Julian’s face was serious, but his voice was kind. He gestured to the shop’s exit and walked Garak to the Promenade. Garak pressed a few buttons on the doorjamb and the door slid shut as a ‘closed’ sign illuminated. 

“So, what is it Doctor?” Garak asked as they headed for the Infirmary.

“I’m afraid there has been a change of plan.” Julian answered with a professionalism that barely hid his frustration. “Garak, you will not be accompanying me to Cardassian space.”

“What! Why?” The loud hiss caught the ears of a team of Bajoran engineers outside of Quark’s. 

“You, Garak, are too much of a risk.” Julian watched as his companion rolled his eyes and sighed.

“What else is new? It seems I’ve been ‘too much of a risk’ ever since I arrived on this station, and that was before the Federation came to this sector, mind you!”

“Apparently your old friend Dukat has your face plastered on all of Cardassia’s ‘Most Wanted’ notices. There is a substantial reward on your head. One that would buy a Cardassian of even the lowest class a Legate’s uniform.”

“Dead or alive?” 

“Alive only. It seems that Dukat wants the pleasure of killing you himself.”

“Ah, yes. That he would.” Garak looked puzzled for a fraction of a second. “So why am I a risk, then? You of all people know that if anyone tried to capture me alive, they wouldn’t succeed because they, themselves would be dead within minutes. You’d be surprised how much damage a sewing needle can do.”

“That is precisely why you are a risk, Garak. This operation doesn’t need extra attention from mysterious deaths along its path. We’re just trying to find out what the Dominion’s new joint project is with Cardassia. They have been mining larger than usual amounts of metal ore of late, and that has led the Federation to believe they are building something. Something big.”

“Yes, I’ve been at the mission briefings, Doctor. But I really don’t -”

“Look, Garak. I wish we had more time to talk about this, but time is of the essence here. I wish you could come along, and I tried to convince Sisko to change his mind. I even asked him to call off the mission, which he refused, and seeing as I’m the only person on this station who has had experience with Section 31, I am the only person besides you that can pull this thing off successfully. Are we clear?” Julian’s volume had slowly escalated through this speech, and a silence now fell around him and Garak as they came to a halt in front of the Infirmary. Garak took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. He closed his eyes, only to open them again to look up at Julian’s.

“Yes, Doctor. Clear as Andorian glass."


	5. Chapter 5

Garak looked on, helpless, as red-robed surgical technicians swarmed around Julian. He tapped the screen of the video feed, hoping to make it clearer. He had to avert his eyes when the most invasive parts of the surgery took place, despite having been responsible for much worse during his time in the Obsidian order. It was easier when he was working on people whom he did not have any emotional attachment to. Seeing as Julian was his deepest and only love in more than a decade, it was heartbreaking to see him lying there on the operation table. 

The movement of the surgeons reminded Garak of the ballets described in the ancient Hebitian scrolls that his adoptive father, Tolan, had kept in their house. However, instead of flowing white skirts and flowers dancing across the stage, it was poorly fitted red gowns and a dizzying array of medical instruments passing from player to player. Garak was beginning to feel faint when he felt an unexpected hand on his shoulder.

It was the Chief, and in his hand was a bottle of Kanar and a small glass. Garak was astonished.

“Chief O’Brien, what a…” Garak was at a loss for words.

“Surprise, yes I know.” O’Brien cut in. “Julian’s my friend too.” The concern in the Chief’s voice was palpable.

“Couldn’t concentrate on that upper pylon?”

“Listen, Garak.” The Chief sounded impatient. “I know how you must be feeling right now. Believe me, if Keiko was in that room, I would be worried sick.” He placed the bottle of Kanar and the accompanying glass on one of the computer console’s top panels. “I thought this might help you get through it.” Garak wondered if this was the same man who had previously tried to kill him aboard DS9’s sister station, Empok Nor.

“How kind of you,” Garak replied. “Doctor Bashir wouldn’t exactly be too keen on seeing me like this. Thank you.”

“No, I guess he wouldn’t. And he certainly wouldn’t want to know that I skipped crucial repair work to worry over him either, now would he?”

“I suppose not,” Garak replied. “Well then, you better get back to that pylon for his sake, Chief.” 

“Take care of yourself, Garak.” These words hung as oddly comforting in Garak’s mind as he watched Chief O’Brien exit the Infirmary. The surgery would be over in two hours, if no other complications arose, and would finish just in time for lunch. Garak let out a sigh of relief and assured himself that there was nothing more to worry about. He poured himself a glass of O’Brien’s Kanar and drank to a successful procedure.

Even though he was sedated, Julian could feel the procedure being performed on his body. An unwanted and rather morbid side effect of his accelerated brain. He should have expected this, as it had happened when he was in a Lethian-induced coma a few years ago, but it was much clearer and sharper now that he was able to explore all of his mental ‘superpowers’ without Federation prosecution. Long incisions on the sides of his neck told him that cultivated cartilaginous implants were about to be inserted to give him the characteristic Cardassian neck ridges. He could feel his tissue being parted, and the implant slowly slide in, meshing with his own physiology. The same ridge addition process was repeated on the sides of his hips, ankles, and lightly so along his collarbone. Pre-replicated facial and jaw ridges were then be fused to his visage, as Julian felt his skin grafting onto the grey tissue. Dermal regenerators then passed, tingly, over his entire being, preparing his skin for pigmentation. A stasis pod seemingly enclosed itself around Julian, and was then flooded with a genetically engineered supervirus that targeted melanin and replaced it with a Cardassian pigment called emerin. Emerin was ever so slightly photosynthetic, so that’s where the characteristic greenish tinge of Cardassian skin came from. The stasis pod opened up, letting light diffuse through Julian’s eyelids.

A painless rush of sensation indicated that someone had just injected him with stimulant. Julian could feel his limbs waking up, re-establishing themselves in existence like images resolving themselves out of static on a viewscreen. He took in a sharply chilled breath of air and opened his eyes, noting the unusual stiffness of his forehead. Holding a hand in front of his face, he noted that his skin had taken on a darker tone than he had expected. It wasn’t the beige yellow-green of Dukat, nor was it the refreshing seafoam of Garak’s skin. Rather, his own flesh now resembled the darker, more grey-green concrete of Damar, now Legate. Julian wondered if this slight unintentional racial difference would jeopardize his mission, but soon dismissed that worry when he guided his hands up to his new neck ridges. They felt very pronounced and rather large when compared with his slight figure. He traced the scales lightly with his fingers, noting the slight warmth that flooded the area.

“Well, then! Time to test out this new body of mine!” The look of mild varieties of fear, loathing, and disgust that encompassed the Bajoran nurse’s face told him that the surgeons had done a good job transforming him into a Cardassian, and that his enthusiasm was a bit much. Granted, she wasn’t the same nurse who had helped him during those painful ten days he had spent getting Garak off that infernal ‘wire’ of his. Garak! He stood up as quickly as he could, but slow enough as not to tear any of the microsutures holding the operation together. Hastily, he pulled on one of the purple and orange medical robes that Garak had repeatedly offered to redesign. 

By now, Garak was pacing feverishly back and forth in the Infirmary foyer, his pace resumed after being twice shooed away by a couple Bajoran medics dealing with an unfortunate holosuite injury. It is not wise to indulge in a Klingon romance program without having taken the recommended precautions, even if the safety protocols are on. He felt an odd weight in his hands and realized he was still clutching the empty Kanar bottle. Garak was momentarily mesmerized by the thin amber film coating the smooth inside, and he trailed his fingers along the snakelike texture as he paced. About twenty minutes after O’Brien had given him the bottle, Garak had turned off the video feed of Julian’s operation. 

The red of the surgical robes had swirled into blood stains in his mind, and the color was all too reminiscent of the flash of the station’s red alert. Memories of his past life also swam into view – harsh tables, sadistic instruments, and the mutilation of flesh all recalled times which Garak wished to forget. A hissing sound almost startled the bottle out of his hands as the door to the surgical chamber slid open.

A glossy black oil slick of hair gleamed in the harsh overhead light, framing a Cardassian face. Garak was speechless. His eyes traced the ridges of the face, flatter and more ovoid than his own, and fell downward to an impressive set of ridges that threatened to rip the neck of a Bajoran medical robe. Garak forced himself to look back up to Julian’s face, now outlined with cartilage. His skin was a cooler grey, almost melding with the Infirmary’s wall, and his lips, chufa, and scales all had a slight charcoal flush. In truth, his dear Doctor made a magnificent Cardassian. The only things left of Julian in this new skin were the unmistakable silhouette of his elegantly arched nose and the bright spark of his eyes that shone out from the shade provided by his now heavily ridged brow.

“So?” asked Julian, with a barely restrained twirl of excitement. “What do you think?”

Ah. His voice was still the same, at least.

“Well, my dear Doctor, for once in my life I am at a complete loss for words.”

“That’s a first!” Julian replied with a smile, stiffened by the cartilage now encasing his face. Garak felt a sort of loss come over him. A slight shade of grief he knew all too well. This specific shade of sadness was tinged with a shred of damning guilt. 

This was the same sort of preemptive guilt that Garak felt every time he began an interrogation back when he was working for the Order. After all, he did suggest the procedure in the first place. By the time the mission had been approved by Starfleet Intelligence, he had no more allies in the Cardassian Union. All were dead – killed or otherwise – except for Mila. Garak did not want to risk her life, for she was the last pure shred of family he had left. In fact, she was the only real family he ever had. Even his real father had denied him his kinship as he lay on the poor excuse for a deathbed in the Dominion prison. The loving words of Tolan had become tainted with the painfully familiar flavor of lies ever since his true parentage had been revealed. Mila could hold her own as a housekeeper and confidante, but Garak was afraid she did not stand a chance against the agents of the new alliance between the Dominion and Cardassia. He refused to have her blood stain his hands.

The image of his mother, lifeless on the floor of his childhood home, appeared in Garak’s mind. She was covered in shrapnel and thick strings of blood were sprayed across her face. He rushed to help her, and was beyond horrified when he lifted a contorted sheet of metal to reveal not Mila, but Julian in Cardassian form. Ridges and scales faded away to reveal a slight Human body covered in deep lacerations. The dying apparition was about to speak, but faded when Garak felt a familiar, yet cool hand lift his chin. His gaze found Julian’s warm eyes, their color still indescribable after the years in which they had known each other. 

“Garak?” The Doctor’s voice was soft and concerned, if not a bit parched from breathing in pure oxygen for the past few hours. “Garak, are you alright?”

“I – I’m afraid your transformation, combined with Starfleet’s decision not to include me in the mission is having a rather unexpected effect on me.” Garak heaved a deep sigh, and tore his eyes away from Julian’s own. “I have to go.”

Garak turned on his heel, a tear glinting on his cheek, leaving Julian behind in a haze of confusion. Julian didn't know whether or not to pursue his partner or just let him be. Neither had really worked in the past, for Garak always dodged his pursuits and Julian never got anywhere when he did not ask any questions. For now, the Doctor fell back on his Starfleet training and returned to the stasis pod in order to finalize the healing process of the operation.


	6. Chapter 6

Garak hurried down the Promenade, thick salty tears blurring his vision. He tried to blink them away, but they stung like the venom of a predatory rhevosa vine. Everything was at the same time completely obfuscated by excess emotion yet painfully clear. He could feel the fabric of his suit coat catch on his shoulder scales as he brushed past a group of Bajorans. Their eyes burned as he clumsily jostled the last one in the group. Garak squeezed out a hasty “my apologies,” and kept going. He felt himself slowing down, his heartbeat returned to something that resembled normal, and eventually came to a halt in front of his shop. Garak let himself take at least four good deep breaths before continuing on his way to the nearest turbolift. He did not want to be anywhere near Ambassador Troi’s gown when he was in such a state, fearing that the material would become victim to his emotions if he chose to express them through action.

The mechanical hiss of the turbolift was just the least bit calming as he took the ride down to the station’s resident quarters, one level below those of the senior staff. He remembered the time when Quark and Odo had that spat about Odo’s shapeshifting being too loud so that Quark could hear it through the floor. It was a fervent, if innocuous, piece of station gossip that refused to die on its own and had to be snuffed out by a mild threat of a night in a holding cell.

The doors whined open and Garak stepped out into the hallway. He made sure to lift his feet a little higher as he walked in order to avoid tripping on a bulkhead. One of the most treacherous aspects about living on a Cardassian station; sure you could be betrayed by anyone from a close friend to an unknown enemy, but those floor-interrupting bulkheads were the worst.

Coming to the door to his quarters, Garak punched in the access code with trembling fingers. 

“Computer, lights.” The command brought into view a perfectly preserved diorama of the relatively delightful and everyday morning he and Julian had shared not hours before. A pool of silk lay on the floor next to the bed where Julian had let it slip off. The cover to the bench cushion was still rumpled and the almost empty bottle of Kanar stood triumphant against the unopened bottle of whiskey on the glass side table.

They no longer felt like his quarters anymore, for they had been tinged by Julian Subatoi Bashir. All around him, Garak could feel Julian’s presence. Every breath was filled with the taste of him and the room seemed to be in a haze of the aureate warmth that emanated from the Doctor’s skin.  
He went to the closet and pulled out Julian’s dreadful Risa outfit. Pressing his nose into the fibers, he inhaled deeply. He felt his back hit the wall and let his knees give out from under him. Sliding down to a sitting position, he remarked upon the dark splotches on the purple velveteen top from where his tears had soaked through the cheap fabric.

And then he let go.

He let himself cry – really cry – for the first time in what seemed like decades.

Garak had never felt so abjectly inept as he did at this moment. The Order had trained him in the ways of many things, but not love. Sure, he knew the exact pressure point that would put a fellow Cardassian into a state of extreme agony for approximately seventeen minutes, but he knew next to nothing about maintaining an emotional relationship. He had barely done so with Palandine before, and that only lasted because of his abilities to remain undetected by the populace. In the end, their courtship was none other than an elaborate act of espionage. It was a product of two repressed individuals seeking an outlet. It was an act of desperation.

Julian was different. For once, Garak wasn’t desperate. For a very long moment, his life had stagnated. Tain was gone and Dukat was in charge of the Cardassian military. He wasn’t going anywhere. At times, Garak envisioned himself growing old on what used to be called Terok Nor, sewing outfits for whoever had latinum to pay. He could see his greying hair, knotted hands, and gnarled ridges in the mirror of yet another too-cold DS9 morning. He was terrified when he felt accepting of these visions. But they had never included Julian. Not until now, anyway. Julian was an indulgence, and a costly one at that. Sure, Garak looked forward to sharing their table at lunch and discussing the literary works of various cultures. He relished those times they had been in close contact. The incident with Tahna Los, finding Rugal’s father, and that eye-opening day in the holosuite had been intoxicating. Garak even looked back on his wire intervention and the time spent in the Dominion prison camp with a guilty fondness. When he first saw the seemingly naïve Doctor across the Promenade, sitting lonely at a Replimat table, he saw someone useful. Julian was supposed to be his source of Federation information, not someone whom he wanted to share the rest of his life with! 

That was the true cost of his relationship with Julian. Attachment. But it wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was that Garak couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.


	7. Chapter 7

“I don’t get it!” Julian roared. “I simply just don’t get it!” He could feel the vein in his forehead bulging against the newly grown cartilage of his chufa ridge. He must have looked very convincingly Cardassian because it took Jadzia longer than usual to respond.

“Look, Julian,” her voice was a calm ember compared to his rage. “It was laid out in the briefing that this mission would encounter many unexpected twists and turns. I’m sure-” Julian cut her off.

“It’s not fair to me or Garak,” he spoke with such force that it could have ripped some of the microsutures in his face. “He is the one who has been guiding me throughout this whole process! I wouldn’t be this,” he gestured to his own body, emphasizing the neck ridges, “without him.”

“You and I both know that Starfleet has its’ reasons for everything.” Jadzia tapped into a little of the level and motherly personality of Audred, trying ultimately in vain to calm him down.

“Well there’s no reason for this.” Julian’s tone had become calmer, but that made him only more menacing. “All I’m supposed to do is beam down to a planet to exchange information with my contact and then beam back to the Defiant. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours! I have all of the necessary codes memorized – even the ones that would get me out of a less than amiable situation if need be…” He trailed off and Jadzia’s voice filled the following silence.

“So why do you need Garak?” Julian stopped in his tracks. Why did he need Garak to go on the mission with him? He could feel the Trill’s patient eyes watch him as he pondered the question in silence.

She placed a cautious hand on Julian’s scaled shoulder and guided him over to a chair draped with a targ pelt. He felt himself sink down into the coarse fur – an odd sensation on his new semi-reptilian skin. Jadzia dragged over a leather ottoman and sat down next to her friend.

After what seemed like forever, Julian looked into Jadzia’s eyes.

“I need Garak-” He broke eye contact with a heavy sigh and looked down to his grey-green hands, relaxed in his lap.

“I need Garak,” he continued, barely audible, “because I love him.”

There was a long pause before either of them spoke.

“If more than three hundred years and seven lifetimes have taught me one thing,” Jadzia responded, “it’s that love is reason enough.”

All the physical anger had evaporated out of Julian’s body. A familiar smile began to push against the excess of cartilage in his face. He took one of her warm hands in his own and squeezed tightly. Stiffly, he raised his head to look into Jadzia’s eyes, shining cerulean in the odd low light of the Station.

“Thank you, Jadzia.” She responded with a warm, yet concerned smile.

“It sounds like you two have a lot to talk about, then.”

“Yes. Yes we do,” Julian sighed. “And fast. The Defiant leaves in a few hours.”

“Sounds like you have to go.”

“Right.” Julian felt Jadzia pull him into a standing position, their hands still clasped together. She clapped him on the back with her free hand and muttered something in Klingon that Julian hoped was supposed to be encouraging. When had Jadzia ever been wrong?

Julian found himself at the door to Garak’s quarters, a place that had become all too familiar during the past five years. He remembered frantically punching the access panel controls when Garak was in the death throes of withdrawal from the Order’s implant. He remembered going out of his way to walk past the entrance when Garak and Odo were in the Gamma Quadrant. 

He remembered their first kiss. 

Right after yet another furious debate about the merits of Cardassian literature versus that of Humans. It had been intended to be a measured discussion of one of the Vulcan philosopher Polvak’s dissertations, but miraculously they had both agreed that it was too dull to require any extensive analysis. Coincidentally, it had also been Julian’s first introduction to Kanar. He turned out to like it immensely, and both Julian and Garak found themselves dragging each other out of Quark’s. Somehow they found themselves at the entrance to Garak’s quarters, and Julian had propped himself up against the wall as his companion punched in the access code. Just as Garak was about to enter his quarters, he stumbled slightly and the movement resulted in contact between Human and Cardassian flesh. Neither of them knew if it was on accident or on purpose, but both smiled and went to their respective beds with the taste of Kanar on their lips.

Julian pushed the buttons on the access panel, and the door slid open. He stepped inside to find Garak sitting next to the closet, his back against the wall, clutching the admittedly unfortunate outfit he had worn to Risa some years earlier. The purple fabric of the top was darkened by a few shades and glistened with the same sheen as the tears streaking Garak’s face.

“Garak.” The older man turned his head slowly to look up into Julian’s face. He tried to hide his sadness with a kind smile, but his friendly affect was broken by the hoarseness that had resulted from an hour of honest sobbing.

“Doctor, I can explain…” He gestured to Julian’s misguided ensemble lying crumpled in his hands.

“You don’t need to explain anything, Garak. I wish I had burned that ages ago…” A half-hearted laugh and a hint of a smile found their way into Garak’s being.

“So do I,” Garak sighed. “So do I.”

Julian lowered himself onto the floor so he was sitting beside Garak. He leaned into Garak’s body and rested his false Cardassian head on the true Cardassian’s shoulder.

“We need to talk.”

“About the mission…”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Julian gathered whatever inner strength he had at the moment in order to continue on. “Personally, I’d rather be discussing The Never-Ending Sacrifice for the fifteenth time, but that’s going to have to wait.” Julian’s hand found Garak’s and they interwove their fingers. Garak was oddly comforted by Julian’s lower than usual body temperature. 

“We’re both going to have to face the truth now, Garak, even if it doesn’t exist.”


	8. Chapter 8

A long moment existed between both Cardassians, true and false, where they could just hear each other breathing against the constant hum of station life support functions. Their chests rose and fell in sync and each could swear the other’s heartbeat matched their own. Finally, Garak broke the silence.

“And just what might this truth be, my dear Doctor?”

“You know, Garak… You really don’t have to call me ‘Doctor’ any more. At least not now. I’m farthest from a physician at this moment.” Julian’s face fell at this realization, and he continued with a gravity that tugged at his voice with unwelcome hands. “After all, I am involved in a matter that may end up costing lives.”

“Alright then,” Garak responded. “What is the truth, Julian?”

“The truth is, Elim,” Julian took a deep breath. “Well, the truth is I don’t need you. Not on this mission, anyway.”

“I know.” Garak did know. “I understand.” He did understand. Garak wasn’t hurt by Julian’s statement. He knew that Julian didn’t need him. He had a career with Starfleet and that alone could carry him through the rest of his life. And currently, Starfleet was asking him to perform an act of espionage. The worst ever thing with covert operations was when there was emotional attachment involved. That could break concentration, causing any operative to lose focus and fail their mission. He did not want that to happen to Julian. Nevertheless, Garak did not want to let go of him.

“It’s cruel what they’re doing, I admit,” Julian continued. “Starfleet should have made this decision months ago; given us time to prepare…” he trailed off.

“What else could we possibly prepare for?” Garak shot back. “I’ve been drilling the right security codes into that brain of yours for weeks now, not to mention practically teaching you the whole Cardassian language in a month. Needless to say, those genetic modifications of yours made that process a little easier, at least. Also, those weekly briefings took considerable time away from my sewing, and Ambassador Troi’s wedding is less than a month away –”

“Elim,” Julian cut him off. “They needed to give us time to prepare to say goodbye.”

All Garak could reply with was a simple, rather shocked “Oh…”

“That’s not something the Order ever gave you?”

“To be honest, it wasn’t something I ever needed.” Garak sighed. “Not until now, anyways.” Julian could feel Garak’s arms tighten around him.

“Garak…” Julian looked up, his eyes fixing upon the Tailor’s own blue irises.

“Doctor, I-”he could feel tears starting to well up again. “Julian, I don’t want to lose you any more than I already have.”

“Already have?”

“The surgery. You, like this,” he lightly ran a finger down one of Julian’s forehead ridges, trailing along the connecting eye ridge and letting his hand rest on a surgically implanted neck ridge. “Like me… I feel like you’re already gone.” The corners of Julian’s mouth lifted his stiff new Cardassian face into a smile.

“Well, I can assure you I’m not gone at all.” With that, Julian reached up and grasped Garak’s face, weaving thick sections of shiny black hair in between his own grey fingers. He pulled himself in towards the Tailor and placed a firm kiss directly on the lips so many lies had passed through. He closed his eyes. The scent of lightly perfumed hair oil filled his nose. He tasted Kanar.

Garak fell into Julian’s kiss. He pressed himself to those lips and breathed in the slight, sterile non-fragrance of the Infirmary. He was so close to Julian at this very moment, but he felt himself letting go.

Finally, Julian pulled away.

“Well, Doctor,” replied Garak, breathless. “That was-”

“That was a promise. A promise to come back alive.” 

Garak tried to blink away a tear, but he was too late and felt the hot, wet droplet roll down his face, catching in his eye ridge.

“Let’s hope no one breaks that promise for us.”

“Right.” Julian agreed. “Now, the Defiant is leaving in about an hour, and I have some things to take care of beforehand. Namely this.” Julian stood up and stepped over Garak’s legs, semi-outstretched. He picked up the hideous Risa outfit from where it had been lying on the floor and crumpled it into a ball of fabric while he walked over to the replicator.

“Oh you’re not!”

“Oh yes I am!” Julian placed the crumpled paisley and lavender velvet fabric into the replicator port. “I don’t even know what possessed me to wear this in the first place and you yourself said it needed to be burned, so why not!”

“Doctor, I believe that’s the only truth that actually exists! Here, allow me.” Garak picked himself up and went over to the replicator; he had almost pressed the recycle button when Julian stopped him.

“Together?”

“Together.” Simultaneously, the Doctor and the Tailor pressed the glowing trapezoid shaped button marked ‘recycle’ and the leisurewear monstrosity ceased to exist thanks to a swirl of golden-yellow light.

“Well, that’s that.” Garak took the finality in Julian’s voice as his cue to bring him into one last tight embrace.

“I love you, Julian,” he whispered into the younger man’s ear. “I can’t lose you again.”

“I love you too, Elim,” Julian whispered back. “But remember, you didn’t even know you had lost me at the time.”

“I know. Just come back alive.”

“I will.” 

Garak gave Julian one last tender kiss before releasing his arms from around his waist. He watched his dear Doctor walk out of their quarters, no doubt on the way to Ops, and sighed. He didn’t want to let go, but he knew that he had to. For both Julian’s sake and his own. Collecting himself, Garak headed toward the Promenade to watch the Defiant depart from the station and warp into Cardassian space.

“Goodbye, Julian…”

Julian stood on the Defiant’s bridge and watched Deep Space 9 slip away on the viewscreen before the Defiant turned around and engaged warp speed towards the Cardassian Union.

“Thank you for letting me go.”


	9. Chapter 9

Julian lay in his quarters aboard the Defiant, uncomfortable in the unusually soft bed. He had gotten so used to Cardassian fixtures by this time that anything less firm than one of their mattresses seemed off. Too comforting. The lighting was low, as they were cloaked for the harrowing trip back to the station. He thought about the café explosion on Torman that had cut the mission short. Analysis of the wreckage revealed telltale signs of nitrilin, indicitative of a pheromonic sensor-triggered microexplosive device similar to the one that Garak had placed in his own shop a couple years before. 

The device had been triggered by a small group of Maquis traders that were led by a couple of humans. Julian had been sitting in front of the café. He watched them step inside, as it was refreshing to see a few non-Cardassian faces, and proceeded to get the shock of his life when the whole establishment shook with a flaming thunder. As of this moment, he never felt so grateful for his transformation. Had his body chemistry not been altered in the process, the bomb would have detonated the second it detected his human pheromones.

He was also grateful for his enhanced brain function, as that allowed him to stay conscious long enough to get to a safe beam-up site directly after the café ceased to exist. He found himself safely aboard the Defiant, after being enveloped by the silver-blue light of the ship’s transporter. He arrived on the transporter pad still clutching the bag of souvenirs he had purchased at an open-air market so as not to look conspicuous while traversing the city. 

Some of the bag’s contents were spread out on the small square table jutting out of the wall. A couple boxes of dried red leaf tea, a few round rokassa fruits, and a jar of homemade Yamok sauce looked horribly out of place on the Federation fixture. However, he was most proud of what he had wrapped up in the bag. A bottle of genuine Kanar. Not the flat replicated stuff or Quark’s cheap imported varieties. A real, Cardassian-brewed vintage that had cost him more than a few intricately patterned lek notes with the faces of old legates printed in the center. To prevent the sinuous glass bottle from breaking, Julian had enclosed it in the folds of an odd tapestry he had bought at an antiques stall.  
The figures on it were definitely Cardassian, but they were more slender – more streamlined – and wore white robes. The tapestry hadn’t cost much, but the antiques seller seemed to want to get rid of it, so Julian figured he didn’t have much to lose.

Julian ripped his thoughts away from the past few hours and into the present. He had almost been killed. No doubt his contact was dead, too; interrogated until they gave up the café meeting location. This was exactly what Garak was afraid of. 

Except Garak never had a cloaked ship in orbit to run to while he was on missions with the Order – the only thing that could possibly save him was that anti-pain implant, and not even copious amounts of endorphins could negate the humiliation of classic Cardassian torture. Julian had been planetside for less than a day – a fraction of the time that some of Garak’s missions had lasted. He couldn’t imagine being alone for weeks on assignment with the possibility of discovery at any time. He could imagine this feeling – like being an exposed nerve.

Julian was lucky to be alive.

\---

Garak felt the weight of five bars of gold-pressed latinum in his pocket as he sat at his usual table at the replimat. Ambassador Troi had paid handsomely for her gown, adding in the final bar as congratulation for finishing the piece early. Garak had poured all of his free time into adding the finishing touches on the garment – including a rich panel of jeweled embroidery down the center. Sewing beads into the fibers was a relaxing task, and it was sufficient distraction to keep his mind off Julian’s mission. He found himself on at least one occasion getting lost in the gilded thread and glint of deep red gemstones until the automated computer system announced that it was oh-five hundred hours. 

For the past week he had scoured the garment for any and every loose thread he could find. Some small measure of peace of mind could be gained by creating a handful of fire-colored strands and subsequently depositing them in the matter recycler. Garak went over the events of the past week in his thoughts, pausing fondly on the moment when he discovered a package of Delavian chocolates nestled in the arms of Julian’s curiously named stuffed creature. A note had been attached with a familiar piece of sparkly fuchsia ribbon, reading ‘You’ll need these more than I do’ in Julian’s far-from-perfect Federation standard. That was one thing Garak had noticed over the years; the system of recording everything on PADDs hadn’t done a single, solitary thing to further anyone’s penmanship. Garak had kept his own up to personally high standards by studying the calligraphy seen on many of Tolan’s Hebitian scrolls and duplicating the delicate rectangular symbols on whatever scraps of paper he could find. Of course, he had to hide these small facsimiles for fear of Tain burning the delicate leaves.

There! Garak thought to himself. It happened again! His mind never failed to regress into the past while events of the utmost importance were going on. He could never seem to live in the present. It was always the past that was cycling over and over itself. It was always the past that mattered. In interrogation chambers, he was always trying to wrench past secrets out of traitors and innocents alike. It was always worse without Julian. When he was on the station, when Julian was with him – even just knowing he was there – that was enough for Garak to be able to focus on the present. It was more than just a side-effect of human pheromones. Something about Julian always felt impossibly unanswerable. The Zimmerman incident already answered a lot of Garak’s questions about his dear Doctor, yet brought up so many more.

Moreover, Garak wasn’t at all motivated to try and force an answer out of him. Sure, he could think of hundreds of ways to make someone talk. There were, of course, an equal number of ways for said someone to be overheard. Garak had spent his whole life getting information out of people, as well as simultaneously keeping it out of other peoples’ hands. This was true even with his own father, as he tried so hard to wrench any form of parental approval out of those cold dead eyes to no avail.  
The Promenade seemed to grow silent. All activity seemed as dull as the once glossy streaks of Yamok sauce on Garak’s blue ceramic plate. His red leaf tea had gone cold.

Garak’s thoughts had turned toward putting the dishes back in the replicator to be recycled and then spending another afternoon working in his shop when he was interrupted by a pair of familiar hands on his shoulders. They lingered for a while, and then slipped off in order for their owner to take the seat across from him.

“So,” Julian breathed, a decided note of relief in his voice. “Did you miss me?”  
He was still in his Cardassian form, and had obviously not been back aboard the station for long given the heavy cloth bag slung from one shoulder. 

“Do you really need to ask?” Julian smiled under all his ridges at the Tailor’s response. It was exactly the smile that Garak had been missing. The Doctor then heaved the rather heavy looking bag onto the table.

“I think you’ll find a few items in here to your liking.”

“Oh?”

“There was an open-air market on Torman.” Garak’s eyes lit up at the mention of one of these markets. He and Tolan visited the ones in the Torr sector whenever they had the chance and a little extra money. “I just couldn’t resist!”

“Why thank you, Doctor…” Garak was still in mild shock after Julian’s early arrival. He wondered as to what may have cut the mission so short. 

“Now, as much as I wish I could stay and talk, I’m already late for debriefing in Ops.” With that, Julian rose from his seat, extending his hand toward Garak, palm facing outwards. 

Garak pressed his palm to Julian’s – the coolness of his still Cardassian skin coming as a bit of a surprise. However, it was no surprise when Julian shifted his fingers to gently cup Garak’s hand in his own. 

The Doctor leaned down and gently touched his lips to the back of the Tailor’s hand, catching his own golden-green eyes on clear light blue before heading in the direction of a turbolift.

Garak heard Julian order the turbolift to go to Ops and let out a sigh of relief as the doors closed with a mechanical hiss.

Julian was back, and he was alive.


	10. Chapter 10

Garak caressed Julian’s honey-gold skin, relishing the familiar heat under his fingers. The reversal operation that morning had been, in no uncertain terms, a success. Garak thought it unusual not to miss Julian’s hefty set of neck ridges, but feeling those wiry shoulders beneath his palms was beyond delightful. It felt like a breath of non-recycled air, free of the stale taste of the Station’s atmosphere scrubbers…

“Garak?” Julian’s smooth accent hung in the room like a vine of aromatic flowers.

“Yes?”

“You seemed lost somewhere, that’s all…”

“Only in the moment, my dear Doctor... Only in the moment.”

And that was true. Garak reveled in Julian’s return, not thinking of prior events or those to come. For now, it was only Julian lying beside him, still smelling faintly of the Infirmary underneath the sweat of fresh love.

Julian brushed a stray hair from Garak’s face, lifting a shadow from one clear blue eye. Leaning into each other, they shared a long kiss filled with small, passionate crescendos. Their lips eventually parted, each forming theirs into a smile.

“Computer,” a mechanical beep responded to Garak’s voice. “Lower lights to level zero.” The room darkened, and invisible water-blue starlight again traced Julian’s form. 

“Good night, my dear Tailor.”

“Sleep well, Julian.”

“Oh,” Julian breathed. “I will.”

“I love you…”

Julian drew Garak’s hand up and placed a gentle kiss on his palm. 

As Garak fell asleep, he could feel the warmth of Julian’s skin travel through his hands and up his arms. It coursed through his veins and eventually settled in his heart. Garak loved Julian, and that was the one truth he knew to exist. 

The only truth.


End file.
